Catching the Flu
by craklyn
Summary: Written for the Twin Exchange May challenge. Fred's thougths of his wife and flu.


_Written for the Twin Exchange May challenge._

_Prompt: Quilt_

_Quote: "Revenge"_

_Theme: Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts_

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><p>It was curious how of all the possible times of the year, this was the one at which she chose to catch the flu. Or as she put it, the flu chose to catch her. The sun was shining outside, and all the snow of the previous winter was long gone, and one would assume the possibility of getting sick would be gone with it.<p>

She sat on an old patched armchair, wrapped in a just as old-looking patchwork quilt, conjuring paper tissues out of thin air every other minute and blew her already remarkably red nose. She huffed at me angrily when I couldn't suppress my chuckle. The quilt and the armchair were the two most miss-placed-looking objects in our apartment, and at the same time the two that she absolutely refused to give up. There wasn't quite enough room for two on the chair, but every now and then she wanted me to join her. She would then place her legs across my lap and lean her cheek on my shoulder.

"I think I just blew my frontal lobe out through my nose. Do you think that could happen?"

How the flu made her normally razor-sharp thoughts sound like coming from someone either twenty years younger than her or someone slightly drunk, was endearing. Oh the amount of remarkable realizations she could come up with during an evening of fever-induced heavy thinking. I quirked my eyebrow at her question, which seemed to snap her out of imagining the unlikely scene of finding brains on her tissue. She then continued by describing the medical reasons why mucus was actually a good thing, which was a lot more like her usual self.

That evening we were supposed to go to Burrow, as we would do every year, since the Final Battle of Hogwarts a few years back. It was our families' way of remembering and paying respect. There were bigger celebrations all over the country, but we preferred to keep it simple. It was Harry's idea originally, happily approved by mum. For her it was an opportunity to gather her family and friends safely under the same roof, and bustle until she was tired and happy and convinced that no one had room for more pudding.

"I can't believe we're gonna miss the anniversary." She sounded sad, although the effect was slightly disturbed by the fact that her voice was that of an 80-year-old chain-smoker with a love for jazz. I sat down on the arm of the chair, kissed her warm forehead and assured her that mum would be just as happy if we dropped by tomorrow. She smiled at me,

"Yeah, I believe that."

Later in the evening, when I brought her a cup of tea, spiced with lemon and honey, she eyed me curiously.

"How come you're never sick?"

An explanation of my exceeding awesomeness didn't seem to convince her, though, and she drank her tea with an annoyed frown plastered on her face.

Her flu had found its chance a couple of days ago, when she had left her cloak home in the morning of what she announced would be a warm and sunny day. Clever though she was, her stubbornness sometimes caused her ridiculous amounts of trouble. Like the time I made the mistake of saying that I didn't notice the difference in the lasagna, whether she made it the _traditional good way_ or with the help of magic. It took two weeks of lasagna for dinner, her irritation level increasing and the splashes of tomato and cheese sauces on the kitchen surfaces growing bigger every day, until I was compelled to say that one could definitely taste all the love (and a few other not so positive feelings) in the lasagna she made without magic.

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><p>The next morning found me wrapped in her quilt, blowing my nose. She grinned like a wolf, and gave me a cup of tea. Her nose was still red, and she wore woolly socks around the house, but the idea of me being sick for a change seemed to perk her up considerably.<p>

"You shouldn't have kissed me yesterday." Her voice was scolding but her eyes were twinkling with glee, "But don't worry, I hear women are crazy for wheezy old men." It was my turn to huff at her. She climbed onto my lap, resting her head on my shoulder, and giggled while conjuring a pile of tissues.

"Revenge."

"Huh?"

"That's what it almost feels like, having a proof that I'm not the only one with a headful of mucus."

Clearly she could just be missing a part of her brain.

"That's your idea of revenge?" My laugh turned soon into a fit of coughs, but that didn't stop the grin that fought its way onto my face.

"Well, I'm not exactly the prankster in our marriage," She smiled and kissed my temple, "But I'm learning from the best."


End file.
